Coda
by K'Arthur
Summary: Twenty years after the game, Hubert begs Asbel for a favor. One shot.


_**Coda**_

_For Joh  
_

* * *

Time had been kind to Asbel Lhant.

Still on right side of forty, his waistline was just a little larger and he had just a touch of gray in his red hair that could be easily concealed with a creative part. The calluses on his hands from wielding his sword had all but healed since the Kingdom of Windor had known only peace for the past two decades. There was no such thing as a border skirmish with Fendel and even the monster population was well under control. The only trouble he really endured these days was paperwork. Night after night he'd find himself sitting in his study sorting through it and sometimes longing for a good old-fashioned battle that didn't result in paper cuts and tired eyes.

One late summer's night as his eyes began to beg for sleep while reading yet another requisition request from the town militia, a dry, familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Your men are sloppy in their rounds," his brother said, his arms crossed over his chest. "They left the back door completely unguarded. You need to do something about that."

Startled to see Hubert standing on the other side of the desk, Asbel jerked his head up and rubbed his eyes. "What are you doing here? Where are your guards?"

Still overly efficient and yet invariably kind under his strict demeanor, Hubert hadn't changed much. A few tufts of gray near his ears mixed well with his blue hair, though he didn't bother to hide it. Despite being out of the active ranks for a decade, he stayed true to his military roots and never let his hair grow over his collar. "I'm passing through and thought I'd say hello," was the reply. "I'm more than capable of traveling alone. You of all people should know that."

Asbel smiled at the expected rebuff as a breeze from the open window caught his papers in a dance. "It's late, but I'll wake Mom, Cheria, and the kids. They'd love to see you."

"Don't bother. I can't stay long."

Grabbing the errant paperwork, he weighted it back down with his inkwell. "Really? You came all the way from Strahta—"

Hubert interrupted him with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm not here for a social call. I need a favor."

"Sure."

"You agree that fast without even hearing the request?" he teased, rubbing his forehead in thought. "I'd thought you'd be a bit more cautious in your old age."

"You're my brother."

"I'm also the head of a foreign state. You might want to consider that, too." Hubert glanced up at the ceiling and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Yes, Mr. President," Asbel said with a laugh. "I'll keep that in mind. Now what is it?"

"Things in Strahta are quite difficult right now. It's not safe for my family."

"Yeah, I heard about the rebels."

Hubert glared at him. "They are not rebels. That's too polite and even too romantic a term for them. Rebels have a cause that they would die to protect. These men simply hire mercenaries to silence anyone who believes that the archaic nobility has no place in a truly free republic."

"Right. And you managed to piss them off."

"I proudly did so," Hubert said, stepping closer to the open window. "I was elected under the promise that I would do something to make sure that everyone had a say in our country-not just those who could afford it."

"I'm sure you saw this could be a problem, though."

"Of course I did. But I never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that they would go after my family. I'm sending Pascal and the girls here. Please take them in. Keep them away from Strahta until things settle down."

"Of course. You never have to ask for something like that." Asbel canted his head curiously. "But, what's going on right now that's got you here?"

Hubert sighed, long and heavy. "My policies on reducing tariffs and encouraging free trade have made me more enemies than I can handle right now. Members of the aristocracy saw this as a personal affront to their wallets. And now, they are being true cowards and have already made a threat on the lives of my wife and children."

"What about your guards?"

Walking back towards the desk, Hubert shook his head. "There are some who are siding with my enemies. I'm not even sure whom to trust anymore. As much as I don't want to be separated from my family, I know they'll be safer here."

"Are you going back, then?" Asbel asked, genuinely concerned. "Do you need an escort?"

"No, not now. I have no place there at the moment."

"Do you need soldiers to help handle these people? I'll offer what men I have here and I'm sure Richard would—"

Hubert cut him off and shook his head. "This isn't a matter for either of you to concern yourselves with. I'm sure the Strahtan army can manage these criminals in due time."

"What about you? I mean, if Pascal and the girls are coming here and you're not going back, where are you going to go? I can't imagine you without a plan."

Hubert looked at Asbel, his eyes distant and sad. "No, for the first time in my life, I do not have a plan. However, I suggest you station more men at the port and the western gate in the event that my enemies choose to pursue my family." There was a long pause before he added, "I intend to be gone before they arrive."

"Why? You're safe here, too."

"If I'm here the odds that danger will befall them increases," he frowned, the tiny cracks of age around his lips deepening with the effort. "Besides, I do not want to burden you with the chance that my enemies would attack Lhant. The townspeople—or the Kingdom of Windor—should not be cursed with a war on my account."

Asbel scratched the back of his neck. Ever the optimist, he asked one more time, "are you sure there's nothing else I can do?"

"No, there is nothing else to be done."

"I feel like I need to do something, Hubert."

"That's just your insufferable hero complex talking," Hubert said with a dark chuckle. "I had hoped you would outgrow that."

"Never," Asbel teased. "But seriously, there has to be something I can do."

"Don't worry yourself with it, Brother. All is as it should be."

"If you say so."

"I know so. Now, they'll be here soon. I leave the rest to you."

"Should I tell them—"

And for the third time that night, Hubert interrupted him. This time his voice strained on the words. "When Pascal gets here, tell her I love her and I'll see her again when the time is right."

"I promise," Asbel said. "But are you sure you don't want to tell her yourself?"

"Clearly you don't see the problem in that," he answered with a rueful shake of his head. "Go, get the maids to ready the guest room. They'll want to sleep after the long trip. I'll show myself out."

"Fine. But I think you're making a mistake."

"I'll add it to the list of those I need to atone for," Hubert said tiredly as he lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Now, go."

"I'm going, I'm going." Asbel said as he opened the door to do as he was asked.

When he returned moments later, the window was still open and Hubert was gone.

* * *

The transport arrived an hour later, shrouded in the darkness and flanked by four Strathan soldiers. Walking out into the night to greet his brother's family, Asbel smiled as he suddenly recalled what Hubert had said when his second daughter had been born: _"I'm already outnumbered, so I just must be destined to always be surrounded by beautiful women."_

And, indeed they were. Truchet, the eldest, was thirteen and had her mother's looks and father's wisdom that reached beyond her years. A strong willed young woman, her red hair was capped by a bit of white, a marking unique to her mother's Amarcian heritage. Mersenne was five, often too curious for her own good, and blessed to have the same white tuft in the blue hair she inherited from her father.

Pascal still looked the same as she always had; though marriage and motherhood had tempered her wild streak and thirst for adventure a bit. Asbel frowned upon seeing her, as it was unusual for her to be without a brilliant smile on her face and talking excitedly about some important discovery or invention. It just said how trying an ordeal they were facing and made Asbel even more determined to help his brother with the situation in Strahta.

"Hi Asbel," Pascal said, looking wearier than he'd ever seen her. "Sorry for dropping in on you like this."

"No trouble at all. I have the guest room ready," he said, reaching to give her a hug.

"Thanks," she said, returning the warm embrace. "Girls, get your things. Let's go. It's time to sleep."

The two children went to the far side of the giant tortoise that served as a transport to fill their mother's request. Asbel could hear them rustling through the pile of luggage that the guards had taken off of it, though the words spoken were muffled by the night and the enormous animal standing between them.

Mersenne trotted back up to her mother. "Jonathan just said Daddy's late. How much later is he gonna be?"

The smile Pascal gave was obviously forced. "He'll be here soon, sweetie."

Taking her sister by the hand, Truchet led her into the manor. "Let's get ready for bed, all right?"

"Thanks Tru," Pascal said, the words more of a sigh than a sentence. "I need to talk to Asbel. I'll be there shortly."

"It's okay, Mom."

A tall soldier with dark hair carried the last of the packs into the house as he directed the other men to stand guard outside. Asbel knew him as Jonathan, the Captain of the Presidential Guard and one of his brother's most trusted men. He gave a slight bow to Pascal. "Shall I come, madam?"

She gave a nod. "Yes, please."

Asbel led the two of them back into his study. Pascal took a cautious seat on the sofa as Jonathan stood dutifully behind. She took a long breath and then said, "I guess you know why we're here."

"Yes," he answered, leaning on his desk. "Strahta isn't a safe place for you right now. You're welcome to stay as long as you like."

Pascal seemed puzzled. "No, I mean. Of course, there's that. But…I mean…"

"You have had no news from Strahta in the last three days?" Jonathan asked, his hand gripping Pascal's shoulder.

Asbel scratched the back of his head. "Hubert said things were bad, but he didn't give much detail."

"They're bad," she repeated, shaking her head. "They're really, really bad, Asbel."

Jonathan narrowed his eyes at Asbel. "We are poised for civil war. The nobles who claim they have lost money to the President's policies are staging a coup and they are now stooping so low as to go after his family."

"That's what he said," Asbel said. "What happened?"

"We were traveling from Sable Izolle back to the capital when our transport was attacked," Pascal said, her voice eerily quiet as she held a quizzical look at Asbel.

Jonathan rubbed his forehead and continued the story. "We thought they were bandits, but they were mercenaries funded by some of the nobles. My men and I did our best to subdue them but some of my own guards turned out to be sympathizers to these criminals! I'm not certain what the nobles have promised them—"

"Not now, Jonathan," Pascal pleaded. "Not now."

"My apologies, madam," the guard said, bowing his head before returning his hand to her shoulder. "They turned their weapons on my men and the very people they were sworn to protect. The President himself held them off so his family could escape. He gave me the order to get them to Lhant no matter the cost."

"You just left him there?!" Asbel asked, shocked by the news and the incredulous strategy. Surely Hubert would've had a better plan. He _always_ had a plan.

"I followed the order of my President," Jonathan said, frowning at the near accusation of desertion. "He knew that the only means for escape was time and he insisted on buying it for his wife and children. I am not nearly as strong as he, and for that I'm sorry, Lord Asbel."

"He saved us," Pascal said, nearly choking on the words. "He saved us and he wouldn't even let me help."

"It's true," the guard said with a sigh. "He was so insistent that she leave, that he told me to hit her on the head and drag her back to Sable Izolle if she refused to cooperate."

"He saved us," Pascal repeated, looking up at Asbel. "He said to protect the kids and he'd see me in Lhant. But—" She shook her head.

Jonathan closed his eyes and frowned. "I returned to the scene of the attack once I had taken the President's family back to Sable Izolle and gathered some men." He swallowed hard. "But I was too late."

"Too late?" Asbel felt the floor fall out from underneath him and a dreadful chill run up his back.

"Asbel…your brother…" Pascal's words quivered along with the hand she covered her eyes with.

Jonathan had to finish for her, and though he was direct, his tone was curbed with grief. "The President was assassinated."

"What?!" Asbel jumped from his seat on the desk, struck by the words harder than any blade he'd ever known. "No! I…that's…"

"That's really why I'm here, Asbel," Pascal said, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I plan to take the girls to the Enclave, but..." She paused and met his eyes. "I wanted to bring him home."

"I don't understand," he said, shaking his head as he reached to take her hand. "He was here, not even an hour ago. He told me you would be coming and to tell you that he'd see you again when the time was right."

"That can't be," the guard said, not leaving his station behind his charge. "This happened three nights ago. He'll be here soon, on a separate transport."

Kneeling in front of his sister-in-law, Asbel looked at her with glassy eyes as he tried to reiterate the conversation he'd had with his brother earlier in the night. He felt his throat twist with anguish as he gripped her hand, the words coming as a twisted jumble of emotions. "I swear I'm not lying, Pascal. I swear he was just here, standing right by the window. He told me you were coming...and...he told me to secure the west gate and...and how that he couldn't go back to Strahta...and he told me to tell you that he loves you."

Pascal dropped his hand and rose. She hesitantly stepped towards the window with tears still running down her cheeks. After a moment she gasped and looked at both men in bewilderment. "Asbel..."

He stood up and turned to face her, astonishment in his eyes as a terrible fright ran through him.

"I don't know how," she said. "I don't know how, but I believe you."

And then, with a trembling hand, she lifted a familiar pair of glasses from the windowsill.

* * *

_**Author's Notes**__:  
Please consider this AU to my other Graces fics because I refuse to accept it as head-canon that Hubert didn't make it to see forty. I personally believe he stayed in the military, never ran for President, and lived a long and happy life with his family.  
_

_Also, I had written something similar for a different fandom years ago but I never really liked how I handled it with those characters. So, when I wanted to give a dear friend a "story for staying awake about Hubert and Pascal," I decided to do a "remake" of sorts using the Graces cast. I think it worked, but I still feel horrible for having to sacrifice Hubert in order for the story to happen.  
_


End file.
